mitä hymy kertoo?
mitä sadeyö?

iho viilenee,
pisaroiden taivas
palelen

mutta iloinen
me olemme
olemme tässä pimeässä
valojenkin maailmassa

varjoja, katseet liikkuvat
kaupunki meluineen nielaisee kaiken.
silti; kosketuksia, kohtaamisia
sanat pyörivät
tanssivat lehtien kanssa.
jalkakäytävä on märkä
katu kova ja likainen
silmänne - yön aurinko

kaupunki elämineen huokaisee
meidätkin unohdukseen
mutta nyt olemme ainoa tarina.

Helsinki, 7.10.

//

Verloren

Wenn es etwas gaebe
was dich und mich verbaende
waere es nur
ein Schatten vergangener Illusionen
nicht
die Spuren einer glorreichen Zukunft
nicht
die Sonne die scheint aufs Jetzt

Meren takana

Mikä päivä oli kaunein päivä?
Se yö on synkkä.
Taivaan varjossa mieleni lepää
ja hengitys rauhoittuu.
Vieno kuusenlatvojen tuuli
tuo mieleeni tummemmat yöt.

Pimeässä ei viidakko vaiennut
eikä lumouksen kuume laskenut.
Sinulla oli kaukainen puutarha,
unelmat outojen maiden.
Mutta luulen mä nyt
sen soinnun kuulevani,
ne näyt ja tuoksut
alla valtavan taivaan.
Valon himmetessä mä
muistan sen elämän kiihkon
-kadonneen arvoituksen,
joka tuhannsissa muodoissaan
sisältä raastaa
kun välillä harvoin osaa pysähtyä,
edes pienen pihlajansa juurelle
kaihoisana kuolevaisena,
joka kuulee ja tuntee
vain niin pienen osan
siitä kaikesta jota ei ymmärrä.

Ne kaukaiset saaret, rannat ja kasvot,
joista niin monet ovat mielessäni
enää häilyviä varjoja -katoavat.

\\ Joka kantoi elämän tulta, elää sanojen muistossa ehkä.

August sings in broken verses,
my heart missing a beat
for every shadow
I see through the window.
My head hurts
because all the curtains in white
hide so many mirrors.

My face turns pale
with blood trails
the soul took leaving.
I stare silently at the sun
refusing to drown,
though all the warmth went away.

I stitch close my lips.
A liberation from imprisoning words;
said things that
did not make the difference.

Can you see the water
they spill on the earth?
All the dreams,
that someone once had,
suffocate in the dust
of a lost childhood.

I fell from a tree,
was climbing towards mystery.
Down here they sell maps,
but I can't find
where I was going.
Only strange names
with no meaning
and lines representing
roads I'll never walk.

// There are some many strange faces that I've never seen. Some of mine lack polish.

Κλωθώ

Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens

Doch ich liebe dich nicht mehr

Den Fluch kann dir nur eine nehmen

Es ist schon so lange her.

Parfum

Dein Parfum ist die billigste Droge,
stark genug, mich hochzuziehen.

Heb mich auf, heb mich auf.
Heb mich für später auf -- - - - - - -

05:00

(Viel zu früh, um aufzustehen!)

Dämmerung hält mich im Judogriff
Judo - "Der Sanfte Weg" - von wegen!
(einschläfernd ungleich sanft)

Derdiedas Zeit ist ein strafender Gott
seine Furien: alle Uhren der Welt.
Jeder Blick auf mein Handgelenk
kratzt mir in die müden Augen.

/Mein Geist traut sich heute
nicht vor die Tür//

(Suomen maan karakterisointi)

Joka vuosi poimin
5 mustikkaa vähemmän
mm-mm, mm-mm
näin tässä maassa vanhenetaan

Goodbye 2.0

Sleepless nights make sleepy days
and all you leave me with
is a hollow heart (to be filled
with love and whatnot)
and a head full of melodies
(to be cast out on planet Earth),
which is more than I could give.

Koti?

Aamu on piirretty kiinni kuvaan,
joka pysähtyneestä hetkestä toiseen
haalistuu irti.

Sade on, mutta odottaa
siirtymistä alkavaan päivään.
Uuteen alkuun, joka kaikkien
muiden lailla on oleva palaamatta.

Lintu, jonka laulua et melkein kuule
lähtee lentoon kaartaen,
kaartaen tutun taivaan;
kadoten.

Pihlajamäki, 26.5.
(2002-2007, 2006-2007)

\\ Jostain syystä tulee mieleen Ääni & Vimma 07':n semifinaalit ja bändi nimeltä 'painostava hiljaisuus'. Onko syynä blogi vai runo on jo vaikeaa mietittävää...

Sitting by the window, overheard

A coffee break, a quick round,
sit by, around, a corner table.
Life at pause they ease their breath,
gather to look at what was
and is no more.

The past to see tomorrow;
perhaps to change course
so intently locked for years
on railroad tracks
rolling forward to no change
in life, emotion and death.
But for all its momentum
nothing remains nothing,
and maybe hope to leave
the ride is not misgiven

A small shower left
gleaming spots for
the sun to drown in dust.

One raises his cup to say:
What we have is fear and its comfort,
what we could have
is uncertainty and its joy.
A few words so simple
and all lies in the open.
Tea spilled a symbol
of personal habits.
-Of no consequence
for the real question revealed.

Cowardice and reason
with all their minions
and promises of years to come.
Or the courage and folly
to take up the doomed-to-fail
journey in search of paradise.
That with luck will be
one hell of an adventure.
Is that not life.

Another declares, noon is late enough
to change from coffee to wine
(and says) passions surely wins.
Other daily customs
one sips his beer,
this day no different.

But this claimed;
there is a tension in the air,
the coffee-round of workday routine
may finally pull
the emergency break
and get out and moving
as never before.

A sober one, perhaps not so
in the mind, though I disagree,
takes a glass of water
and takes a small sip:

We may admit we are happy
or just take a step
to learn to walk.
This eternity question
will surely resolve itself in waiting
in the course of years.
Its answer is all too plain.
We intend to see it tomorrow.
But if we cannot act today,
yes maybe we could tomorrow.
One needs blind faith
to believe it will be so.

He throws the glass of water
spills it on the table:

My self will no longer falter,
I draw my line today.
Alone it may be cold
and failure is so sure,
that it will never be.
The first step will change our eyes
to see and not to see.
Our accomplishments are small
and attain no praise,
but the way we try
and how we walk
will give us warmth
that we never apreciated before.

Evening falls, cups lie empty,
someone counts the tip.
And the spectator-by-chance
wonders if tomorrow
a chair,perhaps two
or the bench by the painting
will not be seated.
If somewhere the morning
opens a path
that does not lead or last,
but lives in birdsong
and a hearty laugh.

Viikki,
23.04.2007

// And I'd be the one with the Hoegaarden, who does nothing. But at least this came after some thing.

Postanything

On tuntematon tämä tuuli,
joka kevättä tulossaan seuraa.
Mieleni kaipaisi kauas
vaan ei näe polkua huomiseen.
Puutarhassa odotan tulevaa
on vihreä vielä vain poissa.

Kesä saapuu aikanaan
iloni on viipyvä edellisessä
vielä edelleen. Ja apeus,
jonka aurinko peittää
ei lähde minnekkään.

Ja elämä piilossa herää
kaupungin laidoilla.
Silti harmaus ja melu
ovat näkyvimmät asukkaat
näillä kiitävien hetkien kaduilla.

Minä en vieläkään jaksa
kiirettä, iloa jakaa.
Illoin kirkkaat silmäni
tähyävät taivaan rantaa
ja rauhoittuvan kaupungin valoja.

On välillä niin vieras tämä maa
ja taivas jonka alla asun.
Kaukkaa tulevat unelmat, näyt
eivät helpota tyyneksi oloa.

Kun tuttu ei tunnu tutulta,
eikä kaukainen toive tuo uskoa,
aamukaan ei näytä
parantavan arpeutuneita haavoja.

Tuo huomenna uusi tuuli
ja tarkoitus toiveille,
tuo itsesi esiin elämä;
minulle lauluni uus.

Viikki,
18.4.2007

\\ Suomea taas, vaik' yksinpuheluun pitäisi sortua.

comedies pencil painted
words are shining through

our future awaits
but is our hope-conclusion
deduced in clarity?

'I wait, I sleep and feed
but do I really live?'

for breakfast they serve tragedy
to cheer us up for noon
the ad ever promising
even healthier life!

numbness predates comfort
and marries security
that is why the newspaper
mutely screams:
bloodletting rules outside

you should dance
for the both of us
I fear, I am too meek
but I will try
to strum the strings
to our conspiring tune

hey, wake me up at 2 am
they want me sharp at 8
those are 6 hours of life to spend
worthwhile together dreaming

a song in two parts
one is served to the end
the choir of the unhappy
was made to stay back home
to remind us our sanity needs us
we forget the industry nation

the real market trades
in human anguish
and the misery of everyone else
who accidentaly lives
on this angular momentum

now everyone out!
before the curtain opens

Viikki,
30.03.3003

// Has been a little quiet lately. Not that I mind complaining.

'If I should be a dreamer
where are the songs I make
and the visions I see in mist?'

My path remains empty
until invited are you!
Companions of wistful eyes
and radiant smiles.

So let us join the roadside gallery.
Our map is the road
our goal off it.

Paths unending we need but begin,
but declarations are empty
even with steps drawn in.

So do give me a push
or the motion fades
without having been.

Together towards imaginations makings.


\\ Not a poem by intention and not overly neat, but this is certainly where it belongs, I should say. I just hope its caveat is not too prophetic; that should certainly break my heart and give a too simple answer to the question. So...

The ground under me booties...

...walks up all by itself.

I lower my gaze, (form
a hurt lovers grimace) -
wouldn't want the rain
to come in my eyes again.

I'm not a liar, I don't claim
that I know how to read traffic signs.
Their general meaning - (for all I know) -
is one thing I do understand, though.

They're telling me,
whispering spitefully
"Don't stop moving! -
or it will happen again!"

Lips caught in tremble/
sounds not quite daring
to even stealthily creep
through between them:
"What will happen?
There is much that did this far."

But signs are made to say one thing only.
And - oh! I don't know.

...and shadows kiss?
full of whispers
devoid of words
dreams fled far away
traces through the desert persist
shared memories
but all the corners seem to be closer
and ever more scary -so empty
laugh! almost manage a smile
sleep comes and goes; still tired
Monday through and Wednesday waited
clothes washed, fabric bleached a blank white
hides the grey dust
the self tailored unique
no divergence from the model yesterday
but my shadows kiss
sun rises and night falls
a path, a saving brach, a spider's net
tiny specks, but no peroxide bleach
will touch the worlds conveyed
even as the spot dissolves the outer memory
their images and yours
tonight remain
a mirror glass in shards perhaps
and I numb myself for another day
selling out
I know where the rope hangs
better catch me falling
than let me go on without stumbling

//pointless perhaps but pointing to?

Hyphydrophilie

Wie viele Perlen
zählt der Baum?
Wie lang und sie fallen herunter?

Ha! Könnt ich mein
Schicksal selber wählen
(z.B. für zwei Minuten)
Ich stünd' unterm Baum
am Hang, die Geliebte
im Arm und sie küssend

Dann fielen die Tropfen alle herab
Zerplatzten wie Seifenblasen
Auf meiner Nase, ihrem Haar
und legten es glatt (zur Ruh)
Und alles wäre von uns gespült
Die Wangen entlang
in den Lippenspalt
durch Flächenspannung gebunden
hätt so manche Perle
(glitzernd verirrt)
den Weg in unsren Kuss
gefunden.

Ein Augenblick nur die Schwärmerei
Dann muss aufstehn, was Geist ist
Der Rest sich verkriechen

„Lass grau sein, was Alltag ist“
sagte der Freund. Ich glaube
er meinte es nicht ernst.

Durchnässt waren wir
und schauten zu dritt
voll Sehnsucht durch den Regen
ach - - -

21. - 22.10.2006 & 23.2. 2007

Cities of souls

There was, I believe, a time once, when we used to watch the moon or sky, in summer nights, lonely evenings, during scaring storms and starving winters, to see the course of tomorrow, to know that the fruits were ripe and the boars wild. It was not paradise, no, but it had an innocence of a wild but slowly pulsing kind. Not lack of violence, hunger, deceit or death, no, but innocence still.

In our days, I feel, there is a kind of restless spirit, or has been for uncountable years. We need and search something. It is nothing specific; I doubt it exists outside our suppressed and shadowy dreams. It is not the lost innocence. No amount of compassion or blissful ignorance will bring that back. It is something else, a new entity born from desperation and aimlessness. That is the reason we come to the cities. Our quest is for what I call, unable to pinpoint it, the soul of the city. A city of souls where we would have purpose and respite. But our cities are dead and drab. For all their pulse, congestion and 'living the moment' they still resemble only empty husks with carrion crawling about. That is why we fill our days with haste, and work and sense-dulling entertainment – to hide the void inside.

But we are not all grey and dead inside. Sometimes our unease and seeking are rewarded. In the city through café windows, persons disappearing behind the next corner, the early, but leisured buzz of a weekend morning at the station, we catch glimpses of the ever fugitive, dreamed-up, soul of the city.

\\A new attempt at short stories. Thank you to Virginia and my disgust at my ragged everyday life for putting the pen back where it does not belong.

java romance

package love;

public class JavaRomance {
__public String man;
__private String woman;

_public void newJavaRomance(String me, String you) {
__this.man = me;
__this.woman = you;
_}

_private void addLover(String he) {
___this.man = he;
_}

_private String doYouLove(String him) {
__if(this.man.equals(him)) {
___return "Yes.";
__}
__else {
___return "No.";
__}
_}

_private boolean sheLoves(String me) {
__if(this.man.equals(me)) {
___return true;
__}
__else {
___return false;
__}
_}

_// This is working code. And it's just the beginning.
}